My Immortal Soul
by Ankha
Summary: Is there such a thing as Soul Mates? If there is, doesn't it stand to reason that there can be Soul Children? Albus has wrestled with this question for years and just when he comes to his decision, his child disappears. But to where? Can he ever find him?
1. Default Chapter

**_A/N: Why am I doing this again? Oh yeah, to get it out of my head. I've been listening to my Evanescence CD too much lately and this story sprang from "My Immortal." While it was originally meant to express the feelings of lovers, I think it can be applied to this situation as well. Just quit reading this and read the story and maybe you'll understand.  
_**  
My Immortal Soul  
  
Chapter 1-My Missing Piece  
  
Albus gazed out over the luscious green grounds that were his domain, his Hogwarts. He'd been this school's master longer than he could remember, longer than he cared to remember. He'd seen it through the worst of times, first with Grindlewald then Voldemort. The last had been the hardest, the war claiming so very many lives. Especially his child's.  
No, he had never married, never used any woman to produce his heir but this child was nonetheless his. He'd heard it spoken of, some years back, of soul children. While born to another these children were belonged, in soul, to another. When he'd first met this darkling he'd known he was his, and nothing after that point mattered but him.  
He knew he'd made mistakes with the boy, hurt him when he was most vulnerable, not protected him from his birth parents. Legally, unless he could prove that the boy was indeed his soul child, there had been nothing he could do but send him home to the bastards and pick up the pieces when he returned from that hellhole. He'd seen the betrayal in those obsidian eyes but there had been nothing he could do! No spell, no potion existed to prove such bondage.  
When his darkling had been driven to become a Death Eater because of his bastard parents Albus had thrown all his efforts into discovering a way, a method, to prove the link. He knew then that even if he did discover anything there would be nothing to help his child at the present. He could not go out to save him, though he had tried, he would have to come to him. If he wanted to return, he would, or so Albus had hoped.  
And he had; sobbing like he had the first night the Headmaster had discovered the hidden scars on his back he accepted the warmth of Albus's hug, using it as an anchor to reality. Albus had certainly obliged, never dreaming of denying his child this. When the boy (even if he was eighteen at this point) pulled himself under that tight control once more, he explained to the Headmaster his plan. Albus had reacted, he admitted to himself, rather violently, thundering that he would not let his son put himself in such danger.  
That had been the first time he'd ever called the boy son. He did not react as Albus had anticipated; a calm peace settled over him and his dark eyes lighted with happiness. He'd taken Albus's hand in his and explained that there was no other way, but he would always come home to his father.  
He'd been stunned, truthfully, still was to some extent. Father, or Ada as he'd taken to calling him in later years, a name he'd so wanted to hear come from his child's voice and directed to him. But not then, not when they were in this situation. Knowing he had him, the Slytherin managed to 'convince' him to allow him to spy.  
That allowance had been given so reluctantly. He'd wanted nothing more than to sweep the child up and hide him in his Tower, away from the world and its cruelty. But his darkling wouldn't let him; he was too embroiled now in that cruelty and vileness to escape. All he wanted was to get something marginally good from it, try to save as many lives as he destroyed. To an extent the Headmaster understood, but his paternal side hardly wanted to even listen. In the end, the boy still won and when he left the castle again it was as a spy for the Order of the Phoenix.  
The years following that were difficult at best, excruciating at worst. Night after night his child would return from those retched meetings, a bit more of his soul torn away. Albus had lost just as much, seeing his boy in such a condition. He'd tried to provide as much of a barrier as possible, shutting away the pain and sorrow and giving love and warmth in its place when he came to the Tower.  
Two good things happened over time. One, the bastard parents that had so mistreated his baby boy, torturing him and forcing him to receive the Mark were killed by Aurors. His darkling did not even shed a tear at their passing but would not let go of Albus once he'd reached the Tower. Albus had seen it in his eyes. Fear, fear that he too would go away and leave him alone. He'd tried his best to dissuade it but still it lingered, haunting shadows at the back of the man's eyes.  
The second had been the downfall of the Dark Lord Voldemort curtsey of little baby Harry Potter. Albus had not thought it possible but his son had been both happy and sad that night; happy to announce the death of Voldemort, even if it was only temporary and sad for the death of Lily and James Potter. While his darkling child had never gotten along with James (they had despised one another really) he had liked Lily; she'd always tried to protect him, as had Albus, from the Marauders. He knew he thought of her as a sister and would have done anything for her.  
Albus had been extremely surprised when his child put up such a vehement argument against placing Harry with his relatives, even more so than Minerva. But in the end he had put his foot down; there was no other place for Harry to go and he was not sending the child to an orphanage. There had been a moment there when Albus had sworn the man was going to suggest that he take him but then he closed his mouth, a dark expression descending over the pale face. "You will one day regret this, Albus."  
Over time he had seen what the man meant. Some part of him broke away that night that he'd left that dark-haired babe on the doorsteps of those muggles. Whatever that part was it nagged at him greatly over the years. He remembered that night so well, convincing Minerva that Harry would have a good life with his relatives. Looking back on it now it seemed as though he were trying to convince himself more than anyone else. But there was nothing he could do. Unless another relative stepped forward, Harry would have to remain at the Dursleys.  
His child had not spoken to him for a week after that night. He'd been there too, hidden in the shadows that concealed him so well. But Albus had felt him, felt those obsidian eyes boring into him as he laid the infant down. They had almost caused him to snatch the boy back up into his arms but he'd restrained himself somehow.  
Years had passed but the subject of Harry was still a sore one between them so they avoided it as often as possible. To do this Albus had once more thrown himself into his work of finding a way to prove the bonds of soul children. It had taken him six years but finally it was done. He'd run down the hallways towards the dungeons, a grin plastered stupidly on his face. Ever wonder why some people doubted his sanity? Well, if they hadn't before then they did after that. He'd burst into the rooms, calling his son's name but receiving no response. A quick search of the rooms proved fruitless. Nothing was disturbed, all was as it should be, but where was his darkling child? A subsequent search of the castle proved to be just as rewarding and Albus had found himself at wits end; where was his child?  
When it was obvious he was no where within a ten kilometer radius of the Hogwarts grounds the Headmaster had reported him missing to the Ministry. They had responded sluggishly, obviously not wanting to waste 'valuable' resources on finding one missing ex-Death Eater.  
To say that Albus had been furious was an understatement. He had been very tempted to turn the Ministry upside down and fire a few flaming spells at some arses to get them in gear but Minerva had restrained him, barely. He knew his child would not want him to do that, would not want him to get into trouble, not on his account.  
Days had passed into first weeks, then months and now it had been a year since the disappearance of his beloved Potions Master. No trace of the man was ever found. It was Albus's sincerest regret that he never got to tell his child how much he loved him, how he planned to make him officially his son by adopting him. That would have certainly turned some heads and raised questions but he wouldn't have cared. He loved Severus Snape as his own and always had.  
A sigh rent from Albus. 'Severus, my child, where are you?"  
  
(End of Chapter One)  
  
**_A/N: Well, what did you think? Probably really rough but I only wrote it in two sittings. I promise this will be a definite unique beginning, or, at least as unique as I can make it. Thank you for sparing your time on my lonely little fic and please have mercy on it by reviewing, it offers encouragement. All flames will be used to roast Vernon and Umbitch, just so you know. PLEASE REVIEW!!! _**


	2. My New Friend

A/N: I'm glad most of you liked the last chapter. It was unique, as I said, as most of this story will be. I believe that part of it sprang from _The Price We Pay_ by Ilmare2, the influence of the situation is definitely present but the added flavor of Harry is my own decision. All right, I'll stop ranting now and get onto the story.

Disclaimer: Do not own, do not own, do not own...Trails of on tangent

My Immortal Soul

Chapter 2-My New Friend

In Little Whinging, Surrey, everyone liked to consider themselves normal. They led normal lives, had normal jobs, and normal families. Needless to say, none of them appreciated when something out of the ordinary happened. The Dursleys of Number Four Privet Drive were among this lot, believing that their way of life should be a social standard and that any deviation from it was altogether totally scandalous and therefore completely unacceptable. Unfortunately for them, Petunia Dursley was the sister of a witch, an extremely powerful one too. Said sister had married an extremely powerful wizard and the two of them had produced an extraordinary child, one Harry Potter.

Now, no one on Privet Drive knew this detail of the Dursleys' lives; it was their dark secret, one they kept a tight reign on. However, as most secrets do, it came out of the closet and landed on their doorstep in the form of one year, three months, and one day old Harry who had been sleeping peacefully until his Aunt Petunia had woken him with her screams. Which, of course, he answered with his own.

So began Harry Potter's life with the Dursleys and as much as he tried to conform to their thoughts of normal, he failed miserably. Unlike Dudley he was an exceptional student though few of his teachers acknowledged this fact, being all too normal themselves. He was small and skinny for his age, not even three and a half feet tall at the tender age of eight. His unruly, windswept raven hair had a habit of falling in front of his eyes which were, as he liked to think, his most remarkable feature. He'd read about the deep green of the heart of the jungle and thought that described his eye color rather well. What was his most peculiar feature was the lightening shaped scar on his forehead. It had been one of the first questions he'd dared to ask his aunt but had received no more than "It came from the car accident you and your parents were in. And don't ask questions!"

Don't ask questions was a cardinal rule of the Dursley family, one that Harry, being as naturally curious as a cat, found difficult to follow. He nearly always managed to curb his inquisitive nature around his relatives; a survival instinct. Vernon Dursley hated Harry's guts with a passion that the boy found daunting most of the time. What had he, in his short eight years of life, done to his Uncle to make him feel like that?

After close examination Harry discovered that it was merely the fact that he existed that drove the man to the brink of insanity. If it weren't for the fact that he beat Harry nearly every night, he would have likely killed him years ago. The green-eyed boy knew he was an outlet to the man's anger and did not know how to solve that problem short of committing suicide which, despite his living conditions, he was not about to do.

So you see the life of Harry Potter was not as wonderful as his unknown world had hoped but he would not discover that for years to come. At the moment he was trying to squirm away from the death grip that Vernon had on his arm.

"BOY!" Spit flew from his Uncle's mouth, spraying his face. His stomach twisted in disgust. "I THOUGHT I TOLD YOU TO BE DONE WITH THOSE CHORES WHEN I GOT HOME!" Ah yes, "those chores." What "those chores" consisted of were mowing the lawn, weeding the garden, painting the fence (not that anyone would notice the difference as he'd only painted it last week), scrubbing the kitchen floor, dust the living room, and preparing dinner. Harry had only gotten as far as scrubbing the floor, his hands nearly raw to the point of bleeding because of it, when his Uncle had arrived home. Really, what had the man been expecting? Harry was only eight after all.

"ANSWER ME, BOY! WHAT DO YOU HAVE TO SAY FOR YOURSELF?" Harry didn't have a lot to say for himself. When he'd arrived home from school he'd flew through his homework, wanting it out of the way before he tackled the physical work. Usually he saved it for last but that always ended in disaster as he was so exhausted when he finished his work that he would literally fall into bed without even touching his books. His teachers had warned him that if he failed to turn in his homework in once more he would have to serve detention and that was the last thing he wanted. That meant he would have to remain after classes had ended for the day and clean some stuffy old bat's classroom. By the time he'd finished that he'd never be able to finish his work at the Dursleys and he'd be in a real pickle then. Not that his teachers would understand that. In the end, it seemed, his plan had backfired and received the same result as if he'd gotten detention. Just wonderful.

"I'm s-sorry U-uncle V-vernon! I had h-homework!" he pleaded, hoping the man would at least be a bit merciful. The man's insane laugh was not reassuring.

"Homework? You were doing homework? More likely you were trying to figure out a way to turn Dudley into a toad..."

Harry sighed; somehow, someway, it always returned to this. What was with this man's obsession with witchcraft? "Uncle Vernon, I don't know how to do magic..." Harry reminded but upon seeing the other's face began to purple, he realized he should have just kept his mouth shut.

"NEVER SAY THE 'M' WORD IN THIS HOUSE AGAIN YOU INSOLENT BRAT!!!" He pushed the boy away enough to backhand him soundly across the face. Harry instinctively crumpled to the floor, touching his face where he knew that a bruise was already blooming. Wonderful, now he would have to come up with _another_ story to explain where it came from, as if he hadn't concocted enough of those...

He was brought back to the present by a sharp kick in his ribs that, so unprepared for, knocked the wind from him. Clutching his stomach and wheezing painfully he did not resist when he was hauled to his feet by his collar and thrown into the kitchen.

"Get to work, boy, and if I see you slacking off again, I promise you will not get off so easily." His threat made the man left him, stomping upstairs to change before he joined his wife and son in the living room to watch the telly.

Harry fell to his knees and stayed there for a moment, desperately trying to regain his breath. He wanted to have started on dinner before his uncle came back downstairs and decided, since he wasn't working hard enough, to dole out another punishment. It would also give him a chance to snatch food for himself. He had always been thin but now he was wraith-like and worried. He knew that he could not survive on the meager sustenance that the Dursleys provided, he was a growing boy and while his last wish was to be as big as Dudley, he still needed more than what he was given. With a sigh he set up the table and wrapped his food in a napkin, stuffing it in his pocket. After Uncle Vernon's behavior earlier there was no way there were going to intentionally give him food. Peeking into the living room he announced that it was ready before hurrying to his cupboard.

Another sigh left him as he flopped down on his bed, not especially interested in listening to the Dursleys' happy murmurs from the other side of the door. Reaching into his pocket he drew out the bread and sausage, devouring it rapidly to satisfy the rumbling in his stomach. Once done he curled around his pillow and stared at the ceiling. Why did his relatives treat him like dirt? He knew this was not normal, he'd seen how other families interacted and of course he'd read about it too. Harry was an avid reader and would sometimes sneak into his cousin's second bedroom and snitch some of is books. The last one's he'd taken had been _The Lord of the Rings_ trilogy which he'd nearly devoured as well. His stomach twisted. He'd have given anything to have been Frodo, even if it meant bearing the burden of the ring as long as he could have had a friend like Sam. His stomach twisted; he wished that magic really did exist, that he was magic and that someone would one day come and take him away from his so called 'family'. Unable to fight the urge any longer he allowed his eyes to close; resisting sleep was futile really and he was so very tired...

(Dream)

Harry knew where he was, if not specifically, then at least in the general sense. He'd read about dungeons before and this was undoubtedly one. This particular cell was not very large, constructed of dark, rough stone that tore at Harry's hand when he placed it against the wall to steady himself. There was only one door and no windows and whatever light the square hole at near the top of the door may have provided was hindered by another piece of wood slid over it. Nevertheless, Harry discovered that he did not need light, the room seemed to be alight with an inner glow.

It was with the assistance of this glow that showed him he was not the only one who currently occupied this depressing place. A black bundle of rags and hair lay curled up in the corner, arousing Harry's curiosity and concern. Carefully, so as not to startle whoever it was, the green-eyed boy crept over and knelt beside the dark mass. Now closer he was able to elaborate on his earlier observations. The black clothing the man, as he was certain for some reason that it _was_ a man, were little more than rags, covering essential areas and perhaps providing some marginal protection against the cold flagstone beneath them. Where the clothing did not cover, deathly white skin was exposed, riddled with scars old and new, bruises and things Harry could not even begin to comprehend. He chose to ignore this for now, barring later examination, and concentrated on the face. Long, oily, and absolutely filthy (and the boy suspected, infested with vermin) black hair nearly hid the entire face so Harry decided to reach up and brush it aside. This action was halted when the seeming swollen eyes flew open and Harry found himself frozen in gaze of onyx orbs.

End of Chapter 2

A/N: Not much to say about this one really except I think you all now know what became of our precious Severus. What exactly while this meeting bring? Find out in the next chapter!


	3. Who Are You?

A/N: Another chapter...uh...another chapter. Well, I hope you enjoy it!

Disclaimer: NO!!!! I don't own, why would I own it? Do I look like J.K. Rowling? I do? Really? Why thank you but I'm really not her so I don't own Harry Potter.

**_Chapter 3- Who Are You?_**

Harry held his breath as the onyx eyes searched him. There was intelligence there, a great deal of it though what bothered him the most was the glint of a wild animal behind that intelligence, or was that just a trick of the light? Carefully, making sure his hand movements where in plain sight, he reached out to brush back the hair. The onyx eyes suddenly widened in terror and with a silent yell the man jerked away from and crawled with amazing speed to another corner. Once more Harry froze, waiting till the man had settled himself into his new corner before turning to sit, leaning against the wall. He made no more moves towards the man, electing for him to make the first move. If that wild animal glint had been true he knew that it was always better to allow the animal to move first.

_:Who is he?:_ a strangely new and deep voice resonated through his mind, catching him off guard. He started and the man let out a silent whimper, curling further into his protective ball. Once more Harry stilled his movements to the bare minimum until the other had calmed down some what and he allowed his breathing to return to normal. This allowed him to return to his own thoughts. Had he really heard that or had it just been a figment of his over active imagination?

_:Is he one of Master's men? But if he is, why hasn't the Games begun yet?: _Was it Harry's overactive imagination again or was there a sparkle of curiosity in those depthless orbs? The words floating though the green-eyed boy's mind chilled him to the bone. Master? Games?-What sort of sick place was this? Who was the self-righteous bastard that had reduced this extraordinary man to nothing but a shell of his former self?

He started again, though this time he was able to control any outward movement. Now where had that come from? He didn't even know who this man was and already he was making judgments of him and his former life. He had to have had a life before this place; at least, Harry hoped he had. Deciding that this waiting game was getting him no where in an extreme hurry, he decided to try a new tactic.

"Hello," he murmured in his softest voice yet still the man flinched and hid his face in his arms, "My name is Harry and I have no wish to harm you." There, he'd said it. If the man was not too far gone to comprehend his speech there was hope yet. It was some time before the man reacted and Harry had no idea what he was feeling, his face still hidden in the depths of his knees.

Finally, when the eight-year-old was about to despair, the man lifted his head. _:Was he serious?:_

"Of course I was serious!" Harry burst out before he could stop himself. The man's onyx eyes widened in surprise and darted around the room, as if trying to find a place that would put further space between him and his visitor. Berating himself for his mistake, Harry took another deep breath and tried to project a calm aura but he didn't know how successful he was. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. Could you tell me your name?" It was a relevant question; he certainly couldn't keep calling him 'man' just because of his ignorance.

One glowing orb watched him suspiciously from between the tangled raven locks. _:My name? I'm Master's dog, not fit to have a name.: _

Sorrow and shame swelled up within Harry at this thought, nearly drowning his anger. Who---Or what as no human could possibly do this to another---had done this to the raven-haired man? Harry was normally a person apposed to violence, being on the receiving end of it a great deal of the time, but in 'Master's' case, he was willing to make an exception.

"I think you're fit to have a name," Harry said with as much conviction as he could muster, "Please, won't you tell me?"

The shame once more reared its ugly head as the dark-haired man turned away. _:How can I tell him I do not even remember?:_

A great deal of sympathy flooded Harry at that moment for the man. What must it feel like not even to remember your own name? It was as though you'd lost your entire identity, the very essence that comprised who you were. While Harry might not actually like his name it was something he could claim solely as his. This man before him did not even have that.

"Why don't you remember?" he heard himself asking before he could stop himself.

There was no doubting the man's reaction this time. His head whipped up and he glared suspiciously at the boy. _:How does he know that I don't remember? Can he read my thoughts?:_

It was at this moment that Harry realized for the first time that this conversation he'd been holding was all together one-sided, at least as far as verbal replies went. He knew that if he'd been standing up at that moment he would have fallen flat on his behind in amazement. He could hear this man's thoughts, with startling clarity too! How was that even possible, it shouldn't be possible, not at all.

_:I can hear his thoughts. Uh...wow, I don't think there's any other way to describe it,: _He thought as he stared off into a corner, totally missing the man's eyes narrowing.

_:So...you can hear me.: _The sudden "voicing" of the man's thoughts brought Harry from his musings with a start though this time, he was happy to see, the man did not react negatively to it.

_:I...I guess so,:_ Harry tentatively sent back, hoping beyond hope that maybe he was getting somewhere with this man. By the further narrowing of his eyes though he was not going to hold his breath.

_:Why?:_

That was a loaded question if Harry had ever heard one. Who was he kidding, he didn't know! How was he supposed to even begin to explain that he'd been in his cupboard asleep and then ended up in the cell with him; it sounded insane even to his own ears!

_:I don't know, I really don't,: _the eight-year-old answered back truthfully. The man seemed to accept this and fall into his own thoughts, leaving Harry to his own devices. After nearly shredding the ends of his sleeves he decided that it was time to repeat an earlier question. _:Why can't you remember your name?:_

The sound of his mental voice seemed to snap the raven-haired man from his thoughts as he physically focused on the boy in front of him. _:You already asked that.:_

The green-eyed boy sighed. _:I know but you didn't answer me. Please, I really want to know.:_

He could see the physical sigh that went along with the mental one. _:You should know.:_

Now the boy was truly confused; why in the world should he know? It wasn't as though he'd ever met the man before, he knew nothing about him at all! _:But I don't,: _He confessed, _:Won't you tell me?:_

_:You're a figment of my overactive imagination, of course you know.: _The other said stubbornly, surprising Harry.

"I am not! I'm me, just Harry!" he yelled. The effects were instantaneous. The raven-haired man's eyes widened to the size of saucers and he scrambled to another corner where he curled once more into a ball, shivering mightily. Harry tried to speak in order to sooth away his mistake but the man's own mental screams drowned him out.

_:NO! Go away, go away, go away, go away. You're one of Master's men, master's men, master's men no, hurt me, pain, master's men, the Games, NO! GO AWAY! GO AWAY!: _

Before Harry realized what was happening he found himself tumbling through darkness. With an almost audible 'thump' he landed on his small cot. Eyes snapping open he sat up and panted. When his head stopped spinning he laid himself back down and tried to order his thoughts back into some cohesion. He could faintly hear the Dursleys just finishing up dinner though the open vent and knew that he couldn't have been out long.

Was what just happened to him...real? Was there really a raven-haired man in a dungeon cell somewhere in the world? If that was true, then why was Harry dreaming about him. Or, more accurately, why was Harry visiting him in his sleep. Deep down somewhere he knew that that man was real and very much in need of help. Could he, little insignificant Harry Potter, be that someone to help him? Surely there was a way but would the man accept his help?

So many questions and all of them would have to be set aside for Aunt Petunia was screeching his name, demanding that he come clean the dishes. With a sigh he rose from his cot and pushed open his door, ducking under his aunt's swing with the frying pan and scurrying into the kitchen. His thoughts about Raven would just have to wait.

:::End of Chapter 3:::

**_A/N: I know this was short and I do apologize but that's just where it decided to end itself. To all of you who may be wondering, yes, that was Severus and yes, he is not in his right mind. Severus's mind at the moment is like a watermelon that someone hit with a hammer: it's absolutely shattered to bits. While at times he will be coherent, there are other times that he will not be, such as we saw at the end. Just don't worry, everything will be explained. _**

_**SEVVIE TORTURE!!! **_

_**:Clears throat: I ask that you please review, it does help my psyche to know that I'm not the only one reading this.**_


End file.
